Long Travels 2: Protection
by corneroffandom
Summary: After Ziggle crashes Alberto's fiesta, things take a turn for the worst for Ricardo.


A/N: This is going to be a purely kayfabe story. No suspension. Ricardo's injury story following the feista plays here.

Alberto Del Rio paces back and forth as the trainer looks Ricardo Rodriguez over, relieved that he's at least gained consciousness somewhat quickly, considering how harsh the attack with the guitar had been, echoing through the arena. He swallows and sighs, turning sharply when Ricardo speaks up, voice shaky. "My arm hurts," he mumbles wearily, eyes dark and desperate as they lock first on the trainer then on his employer.

Del Rio joins them, squeezing his good shoulder, as the trainer examines his tux sleeve and shakes his head, finding that the fabric is shredded. "This might hurt," he warns the younger man as he peels the jacket off of him, all of them startled at how bloodstained the white dress shirt below is. "Looks like pieces of the guitar tore through the clothes and embedded itself in his arm," he mumbles, lips twisting as he pokes at the large gash. "There may be debris in the wound, I'll have to clean it out carefully."

"Then do it," Alberto says tensely, eyes boring into Ricardo's as he looks up worriedly at his employer. "You're going to be fine, mi amigo." He takes his hand as the trainer begins working on his arm, the ring announcer groaning faintly as he picks at the wound. "Breathe," he murmurs, barely twitching as the scared younger man digs his blunt fingernails into the back of his hand. "It'll be over soon."

Ricardo nods jerkily, trying to ease off on his employer's hand. "Lo siento, lo siento," he whispers, running his fingers over where his nails had left marks in Alberto's skin. "I, I... ngggh," he grunts as the trainer digs a little deeper, still searching for slivers of the wood. "Maldita sea!"

Murmuring to him in soft Spanish, Del Rio rests a soothing hand on his forehead, glaring over at the trainer. "Are you almost done?" he demands tensely, frown growing as he shakes his head and continues to work, Ricardo hissing with each scraping motion against his wound. "Look at me, amigo," Alberto tells him softly. "That's it. Just focus on me. It'll be over soon."

He sniffs, trying to follow his orders, breathing ragged and desperate as the trainer finally finishes, disinfecting the wound once more, looking at the men. "We need to stitch it up. Hold still, Ricardo." The ring announcer nods as Alberto squeezes his hand, murmuring to him in soft Spanish, trying to distract him as the trainer leans over the wound again.

He finally finishes with Ricardo's arm, pressing gauze onto it and taping it into place. "Keep it clean," he directs them. "If he feels worse, or anything else happens, bring him to me immediately. But he should be fine." Smiling at the younger man, he snaps his gloves off and tosses them before moving over to the counter, washing his hands. "He'll probably be sore for awhile. Take these as recommended." Handing over a bottle of pain killers, he checks the gauze once more and nods. "Alright, all looks to be in order. When you're ready to leave, take him back to the hotel, rest is the main thing he needs right now."

"Gracias," Alberto says, hand warm on his best friend's shoulder as Ricardo looks wearily from man to man. "I'll make sure he gets plenty."

Ricardo doesn't seem exactly pleased over this, always hating laying around doing nothing when he has so many responsibilties, but Del Rio just pats his back and helps him to sit up. "El Patron..." he sighs, shuffling around until he can hop off of the cot. "You must be sick of constantly having to take care of me."

"It's fine, mi amigo," Alberto tells him, forcing a smile as he watches him cradle his arm close to his side. "It's the least I can do. You usually end up injured trying to help me..."

"But still," he mumbles, standing just to falter a moment later. Alberto catches him before his knees buckle and he sighs wearily, leaning against him. "See what I mean."

"You're fine," Del Rio insists. "You're mi mejor amigo, and how many times have you helped me? Especially when you had your ankle broken, all you cared about was my knee. This is the least I can do. Now come, some sleep sounds good, si?"

"Si, it does," he agrees with a wan smile as Alberto supports him out of the office and towards the exit. "Gracias."

His employer smiles at him as he holds the car door for him, waiting until he's safely inside to shut it behind him. He claps the younger man on the hand before starting the car up and driving to the hotel, Ricardo yawning blearily once they've arrived and are waiting for the elevator to take them to their room. "Just a few moments, mi amigo."

"Mm hmm," he mumbles, blinking at him.

Alberto squeezes his shoulder until the car finally arrives, easing the younger man the few steps onto the platform and only letting go of him long enough to press the button for their floor. "Outside of exhausted, how are you feeling now?" he asks after a moment, glancing at the ring announcer.

"A little sore, but not bad," he murmurs, following his guiding hand down the hall to their room. He stands and watches while Alberto unlocks the door and then shuffles inside, over to the nearest bed which he instantly collapses on top of with a soft grunt. He listens as Del Rio moves around the room before walking over to him, gingerly removing his shoes and settling them on the floor. Ricardo sighs and rolls over, scooting up on the bed until he's settled and a little more comfortable, careful not to lay on his bad arm. "Gracias, El Patron," he sighs, eyes already closed.

"De nada, mi amigo," he mumbles, sitting back and watching as Ricardo falls asleep, a frown on his face. His eyes trace the bandage just visible under the younger man's shirt sleeve, shaking his head grimly. "Yet again, so close to Money in the Bank..." He sighs, remembering a couple of years ago, when it had been Big Show and... But that was much worse than this, so he shakes the memories away, eyes narrowing as he considers the next few days.

Alberto falls asleep at some point, relieved to find, upon awakening, that the ring announcer is still fast asleep, not wanting to disturb him. Del Rio had decided just before dozing off that Ricardo wouldn't be accompanying him to the weekend shows, or Raw, to allow him time to rest and recover. He knows it won't go over well with the determined younger man, but it has to be done. Even so, he keeps as quiet as possible while cleaning up and getting dressed in the bathroom with the lights off, trying not to awaken him. He won't slip out without explaining _somehow_ to the younger man, he just can't bring himself to wake him up just to add to his distress right now.

Although the option of _when_ is taken from him when he opens the bathroom door to find Ricardo sitting up, groggily running his fingers through his hair as he stares at his employer. "Give me a few minutes, I'll be ready to go as well," he offers tiredly, trying to stand and accidentally applying pressure to his bad arm, immediately wincing.

"No, no, amigo," the Mexican aristocrat says, walking quickly over to him and pressing on his shoulders. "I want you to remain at the hotel and rest. I'll be fine on my own for a few days. There's no need for you to be vulnerable to further attack by Ziggler or anyone else. Por favor, it'll be a comfort to me."

Ricardo groans, closing his eyes as Alberto leans over, his gaze intent. "Fine," he mutters, allowing himself to be pushed back onto the bed. "I'll relax today. Just... call me if you need anything..." He looks miserable as Alberto ruffles his hair, smirking sadly down at him.

"I will, amigo, don't worry though. I'll be alright." Once sure that his ring announcer is as comfortable as he can be, he heads for the door. "I'll be back as soon as I possibly can. And you call _me_ if anything happens. I'll do what I can to finish up quickly at the arena."

"Alright, El Patron." Ricardo watches with a frown as his best friend smiles and leaves, shutting the door securely behind him. "Eh," he mumbles unhappily, pressing his fingers together anxiously, the stitches tugging at every movement. "Ay, I hate being hurt so often..." His eyes flutter shut as he winces.

As soon as Raw ends that Monday, Del Rio yet again aggravated and spitting angry thanks to Ziggler, he is relieved to return to the hotel room and pack his things up, most of Ricardo's remaining in his bag, untouched, since after Smackdown. Once done, he sits down on the bed next to the younger man and sighs. "Ready to go home tomorrow morning, mi amigo?"

"Si," Ricardo murmurs. "El Patron, I- I want things to go back to the way they usually are for Smackdown. I want to return to announcing you..."

Alberto sighs, patting his face. "We'll see, amigo. How you're feeling by then, and all. I want that too, of course, but I don't want to rush you back into things while you're still recovering." He looks towards Ricardo's ankle, remembering how _that_ had backfired repeatedly for them both, but keeps himself as stoic as possible, not wanting to add to the ring announcer's stress. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine, I'm sure."

"Alright, El Patron." He doesn't look overly pleased at the neutral response, lips downturned as he falls asleep, Del Rio grimacing before he gets off of the bed, patting his arm and adjusting the sheets to cover him more comfortably.

Sitting on his own bed, he rests his face in his hands and breathes, watching his ring announcer sleep on, not looking very peaceful even as hours pass. "Ay, mi amigo," he shakes his head, finally giving up and settling in to sleep himself, needing this evening to pass by quickly so they could get home faster, let Ricardo rest in his own bed, with Sofia to fuss over him and take care of them both.

To their relief, the flight back to Florida goes smoothly and Del Rio sighs when he spots the housekeeper waiting for them, worry in her eyes as she reaches out for Ricardo. "Senor," she whispers to him, smiling when he blinks up at her. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," he answers quietly, following her out of the airport and to the car, Del Rio behind them. "El Patron is considering letting me return on Friday."

Sofia glances back at their employer who merely blinks at her as she opens the car door for them and begins putting the bags in the trunk, Del Rio joining her once Ricardo is settled in the car. "Senor," she says doubtfully. "Are you sure he should return so soon? What if someone else targets him?"

Alberto stares at her, similar doubts in his own mind. "I haven't decided yet. It depends on how he is by Friday, when I leave. If I think it unwise, I won't advise him to come, but if he seems fine, I also won't hold him back if he wants to accompany me." Alberto pats her arm. "I'll take care of him, Sofia, to the best of my ability. You know this."

This seems to comfort her as she nods, smiling slightly. "Si, of course, senor." As the men settle in the car, Alberto joining Ricardo in the backseat like it's an average situation- which it's not; Sofia's rarely asked to drive them home, but she supposes the Mexican aristocrat is still feeling a little tense after Ricardo's broken ankle and the lengthy rehab that that had led to, wanting to keep a close eye on his best friend after al of that.

And she doesn't blame him, regularly worried herself over the numerous injuries the younger man had accrued over the last three years alone. When they arrive home, she smiles a little and watches for a moment as they walk together to the house, relieved that they seem alright. She collects their things and quietly brings them inside, relieved to have the constant sound of people inside the four walls once more. Even with all of the staff wandering around, upkeeping the house, it's just not the same without the Mexican aristocrat and his ring announcer.

Once their bags are left in their rooms, she begins supper with a smile, listening as Alberto goes on in Spanish about possible strategies against Ziggler, Ricardo agreeing or quietly offering suggestions here and there.

The night and the next day passes normally, Alberto distracting Ricardo with some silliness from the Simpsons as she cleans and rewraps the wound on his arm carefully, relieved to see that it seems to be healing well. Or so it seems until Wednesday morning when the ring announcer doesn't show himself until almost 10 AM, an oddly late hour for him, even on a day off. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Sofia bustling around, cleaning the kitchen while Alberto sits at the table, reading his latest media schedule, before speaking up faintly. "El Patron?"

"Ah, amigo, someone slept in!" Alberto exclaims, unearthing himself from the WWE world long enough to look up at his best friend. "How do you-" But he abruptly cuts himself off, standing so hurriedly that his chair scrapes against the floor, almost tipping over.

Sofia looks up in alarm and sees the problem immediately as their employer races to the entrance and supports a shaky Ricardo, bringing him to the table and helping him to sit down. "Senor!" she gasps, quickly forgetting her cleaning and running to him. "What's wrong?"

He's somehow hot and cold all at once, flushed and clammy, and seems to be having trouble staying conscious. "I don't feel well," he mumbles, sinking into her warm embrace as she looks up at Del Rio, more than a little scared.

"Senor-" she whispers, carding her fingers through his hair gently.

"I'm calling 911," he declares tensely, lips pale as Sofia stares at him, eyes wide in fright, Ricardo's struggled breathing against her breaking her heart.

"My arm hurts," he whimpers, the housekeeper's eyes widening even further as the problem seems to click with both of them at once. Alberto, still talking tensely into the phone, approaches and supports the ring announcer as Sofia leans him back against the chair, immediately going for his sleeve. As soon as she pulls the bandage back, bringing forth another whining groan from Ricardo, their fears are realized.

The wound, which had looked alright, though a little raw, the day before, now is swollen around the stitches, red hot to the touch, and Sofia chokes back a whimper of her own as she looks into Ricardo's glassy, feverish eyes. "Infection?"

"Si," Alberto says tensely, one hand on the phone and the other on his best friend's shoulder. "Help is on the way, mi amigo. You're going to be ok."

He hisses out a groan and reaches out for his employer, relaxing slightly when Alberto shifts his hold to squeeze his hand, still talking tensely into the phone. "El Patron," he gasps, eyes shutting tightly as Sofia pulls the last of the bandage off, causing his arm to throb anew.

"Lo siento, lo siento," she repeats again and again, eyes prickling with tears as she strokes his hair, hating having to cause him more pain. His wound is now completely visible, revealing how bad the area actually looks, and she closes her eyes, wondering how they'd missed it- it had to have been growing for awhile to be _this_ bad... "Lo siento," she cries into his hair, pressing her face against the top of his head, partially to comfort him and partially so she doesn't have to look at his wound any longer. "Senor..."

"Don't cry, Sofia," he chokes out, growing more distressed at _her_ sadness. "It'll be ok. It- it will." This does help her somehow to find the strength to pull herself together and she draws away, gripping his face. "Right?"

"Of course, of course," she nods, voice still a little shaky despite there being no tears on her face now. "The doctors will fix you right up, senor. There's nothing to worry about." He smiles at her and rests his feverish face against her arm, the woman growing more and more worried with just how hot he feels. Alberto must notice it too because he goes to the sink and rinses off a washcloth, bringing it back to rest on Ricardo's forehead, all of them relieved when they hear ambulance sirens in the distance.

"See, amigo, they're almost here," Alberto tells him quietly, brushing his fingers through Ricardo's hair. He had considered, for a bit, just dragging the younger man to his car and driving him to the hospital himself, but it's a good ten minute drive and the thought of his driving if something started to go majorly wrong had frozen him in place, convinced him that waiting for the ambulance was a good idea. The appearance of the EMTs seem to comfort all three of them as they immediately surround Ricardo and examine his arm before preparing him for transport, already working at cooling his fever. "We're coming with," the Mexican aristocrat announces once Ricardo is on a stretcher, being pushed out to the waiting van. The EMTs agree after a moment, Alberto relieved as he urges Sofia on ahead of him, the woman sitting on one side of Ricardo and he on the other. The fact that they allowed both of them on is a bit more of a comfort, meaning that they don't think the ring announcer's condition is so bad that they'll need much space to work around.

The ride to the hospital is quiet, even though Ricardo remains conscious throughout, and Alberto whispers in Spanish to him whenever he looks over at his employer, fear in his gaze. When they finally arrive, things move quickly and they have the younger man settled in a room before Sofia or Alberto are in the building, nurses checking his wound closely while they wait for a doctor to make an appearance. Alberto's gaze is stormy as he watches them clean his arm, causing him to flinch and look on in confused delirium, the Mexican aristocrat vowing all over again to make Ziggler pay for this, the head injuries he suffers from not enough to justify _this._ "May I-?" he demands when a nurse bustles past to go out to the hall.

She blinks up at him, understanding immediately. "Fine, maybe your presence will help, but if we tell you to move, please do so." He sneers after her as she disappears from sight, but immediately walks into the room and approaches the bed, Ricardo's wet eyes resting on him as he sits down next to him on the bed and squeezes his good arm with a vague smile.

"El Patron, what's going on?" he mumbles, leaning against him tiredly. "I don't feel good, and they keep poking at my arm..."

Alberto holds him close and tsks, pressing his face into his hair. "Remember, mi amigo? You have an infection... they're trying to clean your wound, and figure out what to do next. You have to let them do their work, you'll feel better once they're done."

"Me promotes?"

"Si," Del Rio nods, overwhelmed by how young Ricardo sounds, possibly flashing back to all that he went through as a teenager with infections. He strokes his back until the doctor appears, Alberto noticing and not liking it as the man eyes him while introducing himself before bustling over to look Ricardo's arm over now that the nurses have finished with his paperwork. "I'm his employer, Alberto Del Rio," he finally says, hoping that it's clear that he's not going anywhere unless it puts Ricardo at risk for him to stay where he's at.

The doctor barely responds to this, only nodding sharply as he lifts Ricardo's sleeve and examines the wound, glancing over at the ring announcer. "Ricardo, can you tell me what happened?"

The younger man shifts tiredly and turns to look at him, his lips parting slightly. "I, we work for WWE," he says slowly. "Dolph Ziggler hit me... with a guitar and it shattered against my arm." Alberto nods at the doctor's uncertain glance, turning his attention back to his best friend to ensure that the story's being told correctly. "I felt ok for a couple of days, but... not this morning."

"What did you notice?" the doctor finally asks Del Rio, joining in the group of people who had examined and prodded at the wound, adding to Ricardo's discomfort.

"WWE doctors cleaned the wound and thought they got all of the pieces of the guitar out, and my housekeeper and I were keeping a close eye on things, the wound seemed to be healing properly, but this morning he woke up feverish and weak, so we brought him here," he says lowly, his fingers shifting as he runs them through Ricardo's hair. "He'll be alright, si?"

The doctor hesitates and nods. "I believe so, yes, but we're going to have to locate the slivers of wood embedded in there and completely sanitize the injury."

Alberto releases a faint breath as Ricardo shudders, the older man glancing over at him. He can only imagine how Ricardo must be feeling, especially after all that he'd endured as a teenager, what feelings the words "infection" and "sanitize" must bring out in him. "I see." He pats his friend on the back, soothingly rubbing his shoulder. "It'll be ok. You're going to be fine. I'll be right here for anything you need."

"Gracias," he sighs softly, looking around as another nurse comes to bandage his arm. "Can I go?"

"No, sorry," she says, pulling away and placing tape on the cloth to keep it flush against his skin. "The doctor wants you stay while we start you on a course of antibiotics, make sure that it begins to work. I'll be back to check in on you in a little bit." Sofia rests her hand on his, stroking his knuckles as he watches the nurse bustle off, frowning glumly.

"I hate hospitals." Alberto and Sofia exchange small smiles at the slightly more normal sounding announcement as they settle next to the ring announcer on either side, content to remain and support him while they wait. "Muchas gracias... for staying," he whispers after a few minutes, his eyes slipping closed as Sofia leans forward, adjusting the sheets so that he looks more comfortable.

The days pass slowly, Alberto having little choice but to leave for the week's WWE events, but he returns as quickly as he can, relieved to find Ricardo back home now, resting on the couch as Sofia bustles around in the kitchen, making his favorite foods to entice his appetite, which comes and goes due to the antibiotic and pain medicine. "Hola, mi amigo," he says cheerfully, dropping his bags on the floor and joining him, examining him closely. "Well, you look better." He leans forward and rests a hand on Ricardo's forehead, staring into his eyes. "Fever's all but gone, hm?"

"Si," Ricardo says with a faint smile. "The antibiotic is working. I still get tired sometimes, but it's progress." Alberto smiles back at him, his eyes resting on his still bandaged arm. Ricado shifts anxiously, glancing down at it too. "It's healing as well. It doesn't hurt as much, anyway. Maybe I can return to announcing you at Money in the Bank... I would like to," he adds when his employer doesn't say anything for a long moment.

"I don't know, mi amigo. We'll see how things are going closer to the time, what the doctors say." He smiles mirthlessly as the ring announcer drops back against the armrest with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "I know you're frustrated, I don't blame you, but you're just now bouncing back from the infection. I don't want to risk it... especially when Sofia tells me you're still having nightmares."

Ricardo peeks up as Alberto stares at him stoicly, taking a deep breath. "I'll be ok..."

"Maybe, with a little more time," Del Rio nods, tapping him on the ankle. "But for now, remain home. Rest. I will be more comfortable with everything if I know you're safe here, with Sofia taking care of you." The ring announcer still looks disappointed so Alberto falls silent, staring at him for a long moment. "I'll be back in a moment." He ignores the confused look on Ricardo's face as he stands up and wanders into the kitchen, quietly greeting Sofia as he gets a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. "Sofia."

"Si, senor?" she asks, shaking her hands dry and turning away from the sink to look at him. "Is there something you need?"

"Mm," Alberto says, lowering his voice and inclining her to do the same. "If perhaps I choose to bring him along to the Money in the Bank PPV- just to let him rest at the hotel and at least be in town for the event- do you think he'll be alright?" he asks, remembering after the Big Show attack, how he had done the same for Ricardo then, the younger man thankfully cleared to return the following night.

She purses her lips and thinks for a few moments, her gaze distant. "Si," she finally decides. "I think that would be good for him. He misses traveling with you, senor. Even a little bit of normalcy would, perhaps, be good for him. Ease some of his fear." She sighs. "The nightmares are of his teenage years, senor. He wakes up begging to keep his leg... it's terrible."

Alberto nods grimly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. "I know, Sofia. Thank you for taking such good care of him in my absense. I'm not sure what we do without you."

She smiles tiredly at him. "You never have to worry about that, senor. I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

"Good," he tells her with a faint grin. "Now, come, let's go tell Ricardo the good news." Her eyes light up as he leads her into the living room.

Although he had only been off of the road for a couple weeks, it's clear Ricardo is pleased to be doing even this little amount of trvaveling, looking around Philadelphia as they drive to the hotel, Alberto sneaking glances at him now and again whenever he can take his eyes off of the road. Ricardo looks more cheerful than he had since the night of the failed fiesta, despite how carefully he's still holding his arm. The cut is mending nicely, but he's still sensitive sometimes, scheduled to take his last dose of antibiotics later in the week. Alberto is relieved with each bit of progress he makes, though he knows that he still tires easily, not wanting to push him to return too soon. "You're going to be fine on your own at the hotel, si?" he asks idly when they're still a few blocks away.

Ricardo blinks and looks over at him. "Of course, El Patron. It's only going to be a few hours. I'll rest... and then watch Money in the Bank on my laptop. Unless you've changed your mind and I can announce you." He smiles a little as Alberto looks over at him, shaking his head slightly. "I didn't think so," he murmurs, shrugging it off and looking out of the window as they pull into the hotel parking lot. "Good luck tonight, though you won't need it, El Patron."

Del Rio smiles at him, parking the car and watching as he gets out of the vehicle, breathing in the fresh air that he's had too little of since his injury. As soon as Alberto registers with the front desk, following Ricardo up to their room, he rests their bags on the floor and looks everything over. "Seems alright," he mutters, eyes narrowed thoughtfully while the ring announcer settles down on the nearest bed, kicking his heels against the frame. "I suppose that's my cue to go. I'll see you soon, mi amigo. Call me if you need anything."

Ricardo nods, already looking sleepy. "Si, El Patron. I will. Adios."

"Adios." Leaving the room is the hardest thing Del Rio's done in awhile, but it's thankfully easier to have the younger man in town than all the way off in Florida, recuperating far from where Alberto could do anything to help him most times.

Ricardo sleeps for what feels like only a few minutes when his alarm goes off, the ring announcer jerking upright as he gasps and grips his arm, staring down at his legs in confusion. Breathing a little easier upon finding that everything is as it should be, he shakes his head and glances at the clock, eyes widening. "Ay dios mio." Scrambling, he unpacks his laptop and accesses the wifi, loading . Finishing the ordering process, he lays back and watches as the PPV loads, sighing. "Why does this always have to happen around Money in the Bank?" This PPV is the most interesting to him, only bested by the Rumble, but he'd been hurt for two of them now, the fact that he'd missed the year his employer had actually _won_ the briefcase still eating at him.

Alberto retains his title a little later, and Ricardo smiles, watching as he laughs and boasts, proud of still being champion. The ring announcer sighs, wishing that he could be there to raise his arm in victory instead of the referee who doesn't look all that thrilled about it. _Next time,_ he decides, picking absently at the bandage still covering his mostly healed arm. He's not sure when exactly he falls asleep again but when he awakens, his laptop is off of the bed, now resting on the desk across from him, its screen blank. He blinks at it a couple of times, listening to the faint murmur of voices, when the sound of a cart rolling into the room greets him and he sits up, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. "Hmph," he sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and looking up as Alberto enters, pushing a room service cart in front of him. "El Patron, you're back," he realizes, eyes widening as he stops the cart next to his bed.

"Si, and you're finally awake," he grins at the younger man, touseling his hair. "Did you sleep well? No nightmares?"

Ricardo hesitates a moment, remembering the one he'd had earlier, but slowly shakes his head. "No, El Patron, no nightmares."

Alberto doesn't seem to fully believe him but he lets it go after staring at him a few minutes, stepping aside to pull lids off of the food. "I see. Well, I hope you stayed awake long enough to watch my match, because we have some things to celebrate tonight."

"Of course I watched your match," Ricardo says, joining him to look at the two plates of food. "Congratulations, though I had no doubt that you would remain champion." Alberto squeezes his shoulder, nudging a plate of lasagna and bread over to him, taking his own of steak and a baked potato before they sit facing each other on their beds. "But what do you mean we have 'some things' to celebrate? There is more than one?"

"Si, of course. That you are now healthy enough to travel with me, and will soon be back in the WWE where you belong," Alberto tells him, pausing to cut his steak. "That alone warrants a treat, wouldn't you say? My retaining which, as you said, was to be expected, is just the icing on the cake."

Ricardo's lips twitch up into a pleasantly surprised smile as he forks up some of the noodles, nodding. "Si, of course. Gracias, El Patron." Alberto grins at him before resuming his meal, the two of them happy to spend the rest of the night talking and watching TV together, like they'd done so many times before.

That night, when the lights are off, and Ricardo falls asleep, it's obviously a deep, peaceful sleep. He has no nightmares, to Alberto's relief. Once comfortable in the certainty that Ricardo would _remain_ at ease, the older man sighs and settles into his own bed, turning to face his ring announcer before he too dozes off, anticipating the day he'd be well-rested, healed fully and back to traveling full time.


End file.
